His brow shades frown, although his eyes are sunny
His smiles are lightning, though his pride despair
And his disdains are gall, his favors honey
A modest man, decked with a blush of honor
Whose feet do tread green paths of life and love
The wonder of all eyes that look upon him
Live reconciled friends within his brow
Then who had heard the plaints I utter now?
For had he not been fair, and thus unkind
My Muse had slept, and none had known my mind
Come, worth Greek, Ulysses, come
Possess these shores with me
The winds and seas are troublesome
And here we may be free
Here may we sit and view their toil
That travail in the deep
And joy the day in mirth the while
And spend the night in sleep
My spotless love hovers with purest wings
About the temple of the proudest frame
My ambitious thoughts, confined in his face
Affect no honour but what he can give
My hopes do rest in limits of his grace
I weigh no comforts unless he relieve
For he, that can my heart imparadise
Holds in his fairest hand what dearest is
All my life’s sweet consists in his alone
So much I love the most unloving one
Fair nymph, if fame or honor were
To be attained with ease
Then would I come and rest me there
And leave such toils as these
But here it dwells, and here must I
With danger seek it forth
To spend the time luxuriously
Becomes not men or worth
Let others sing of Knights and Paladines
In aged accents and untimely words
Paint shadows in imaginary lines
Which well the reach of their high wit records
But I must sing of thee, and those fair eyes
Ulysses, Oh be not deceived
With that unreal name
This honor is a thing conceived
And rests on others' fame
Begotten only to molest
Our peace, and to beguile
The best thing of our life, our rest
And give us up to toil
Authentic shall my verse in time to come
When yet th’ unborn shall say, Lo, where he lies
Whose beauty made him speak, that else was dumb
Well, well, Ulysses, then I see
I shall not have thee here
And therefore I will come to thee
And take my fortunes there
I must be won that cannot win
Yet lost were I not won
For beauty hath created been
T' undo, or be undone
These are the arcs, the trophies I erect
That fortify thy name
And these thy sacred virtues must protect
Against the dark, and time’s consuming rage
Though th’ error of my youth in them appear
Suffice, they show I lived, and loved thee dear
